


2 + 2 = 4some

by danpuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Family Bonding, M/M, Magical Bond, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Not Like That, Parental Guidance Advised, Sexual Confusion, Teacher-Student Relationship, Weird Voyeurism, Weirdness, incestuous vibes, life bond, no, no one asked to be here okay?, seriously not like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danpuff/pseuds/danpuff
Summary: Lily and James spying on their son's intimate moments. And occasionally joining in.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Harry Potter/Severus Snape/James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 79





	2 + 2 = 4some

**Author's Note:**

> There's no excuse for this. It's just plain weird. You have been warned.

Death would have been preferable to half-life, in the opinions of Lily and James Potter, but neither had any choice in the matter. 

The Life Bond shared between them and their son had, miraculously, kept all three Potters alive. Life Bonds were rare, and never put to the test quite like this, so no one had thought to check for the barest traces of life force. Lily and James were buried side by side in Godric’s Hollow, where they remained for sixteen years. 

Their choices for whiling away the days were all unpleasant in their own ways.

The first being bodily awareness - and when your body was essentially paralyzed, and the only awareness you had was cold and darkness, and gnawing hunger, this was the least preferable option. Over the years, they checked in with their bodies, if only to remember that they were, in fact, still alive, if barely. 

The second option meant dreams - sleeping the days away, trapped in their own minds. On the whole, this does not sound like a bad option, but anyone who has spent enough time in their own heads will tell you, it most certainly is. They had many years to contemplate their own flaws and mistakes, what they would like to change, what they missed most about proper life, desperate hope for the future - 

(It was no wonder that, upon return to proper life, the Potters were a bit - well - _unhinged_.)

The third option was shared consciousness, in which they might visit one another - not quite in their heads, but on another plane. Neither knew what precisely to call it, but Purgatory sounded near enough right. The magic sustaining them did not allow for a change in scenery - only an awareness of one another. They spoke at length, reassuring one another, lifting each other’s spirits and, as it would happen, arguing awfully. Inevitably one or both would return to their useless bodies just to escape.

The fourth option was simultaneously the best and worst: visiting Harry. 

They could not always control when they visited Harry. Heightened emotional states on his end made it easier, which meant the majority of the time it was awful. 

They bore witness to their child sobbing in his cot while his aunt doted on his cousin. No cuddles or kisses for Harry; only the bare minimum meeting of needs. The very bare minimum, as he grew older. Locked in the cupboard, often as not - muscles cramped from work, stomach cramped from hunger. Jerked to wakefulness by his aunt’s screeching. Shouted at and shoved at by his uncle. Mocked and smacked by his cousin. 

After a full decade, the wonderment of Hogwarts made a nice reprieve. 

Joy. And friendship. And magic. No more hunger or darkness for their Harry. 

Of course, Hogwarts came with its own perils. Namely dragons and basilisks and dementors and more. Whispers and stares and accusations. The threat of Quirrel and Crouch, the malice of Snape and Umbridge. They watched it all unfold and kept a list of every person they would hex if they ever crawled out of their graves. 

Every near death experience put strain on their remaining life force. There were stretches of time lost to unawareness. Only Harry’s life gave them any sense of passing days and years. 

Nearly fifteen years in the ground, the summer Harry turned sixteen. Lily and James felt closer to life than ever. Emotions came more readily, hit the heart all the harder. Sensation crept in, as well - sharing sensation with their son. Wounds, unsurprisingly, but also chocolate on the tongue and the warmth of a hug. 

It was for the best, if they woke soon, for both were ready to pummel Severus Snape. 

Severus Snape, who visited Grimmauld Place to give Harry _private lessons_. After the disastrous foray into Occlumency, they had to question why Dumbledore thought this was a good idea. It seemed Snape spent more time mocking and attacking their son than teaching him.

And, by the end of summer, _fucking_ him. 

It was the first time their son’s emotions had come to them unprompted. Fury exploding out of him and into them. Fury and - something else. For a time, Lily and James waited, panicked and confused. When the steam did not cool, and they came back to their senses, they dived into Harry’s consciousness. 

Harry on a couch, wearing nothing from the waist down. Harry on a couch with his legs spread wide, his hands fisted in Snape’s shirt as the man drove into him. The man’s face was twisted in a snarl, dark eyes glaring down at Harry, who glared right back. The man’s hand clamped over Harry’s mouth, the other holding his leg against the back of the couch. 

Snape’s hand was cold and clammy over Harry’s mouth. They _felt_ it. Just like they felt the burn of him _inside_ \- hot flesh stretching and filling and - _overwhelming_. 

As they had been frozen in their panic before, they were equally inactive here. The horror of what was happening - this older, cruel man fucking their son - this abusive monster fucking _them_ \- there was no escape. They didn’t know how to get out - 

Fear. And disgust. _And pleasure_. And anger. And _please God more_. And desperation to leave - desperation to _come_ \- they couldn’t tell who was who anymore. Who was Harry, who was James, who was Lily. And Harry was coming, they were all coming -

No. Only Harry. 

James crashed back into his physical form, heart pounding harder than ever in its shell. Was that tingling in his spine the shock of what he had just suffered, or the aftershocks of - no. No. Certainly not that. That had been _Harry’s_ orgasm, not _his_. 

Lily, too, recuperated within her body. The body she wished very much was working if only so she could properly sick up. Severus was practically her brother, for Merlin’s sake. And Harry was her son! Sharing that experience with him was far too intimate - almost like -

Yes. She very much wanted to vomit.

* * *

Whenever heat flared from their son, Lily avoided it, when possible. James often investigated, to be sure Snape wasn’t killing Harry (a feeble excuse, in Lily’s opinion), and returned with news. A fight, he said. Nasty words. A jinx or hex or curse from one or the other or both. Then, inevitably, Snape would throw their son against into the nearest surface and - well - fuck him. 

In Purgatory, Lily followed the motion of her husband rubbing his backside as he told the latest tale. She was not sure he knew he was doing it. Lily’s face set into a grim line, folding her arms over her chest. It was one thing for her old friend to be fucking her son, but her husband, as well! And James - well, James just kept going back for more, didn’t he? 

It was - it was like he was - _it was like he was cheating on her!_

“Potions?” James suggested. “Enchantments?”

“A likely excuse,” Lily muttered.

“Pardon?”

“Might as well suggest the Imperius next.”

“…Do you think-?”

“No, I do not think!” Lily glared at her husband’s hazy Purgatorial figure. “I think after fifteen years of celibacy, you’re jumping in on the action!”

James sputtered. “Jumping in! Are you out of your mind?”

“Are _you_?”

James did not much like the implication that he actually like being buggered by Severus Snape, and escaped to his body. Lily retreated into her own awareness fuming. The nerve of him! Had he no shame?

* * *

Over time, the heat overpowered them. Rage and lust burned hotter, leaking out of their son in a flood, sweeping them up and dragging them under. 

Some days they were unwitting voyeurs, spying as their son was manhandled over near every surface in Grimmauld Place. Slammed into the wall. Shoved to the floor. Bent over tables. Just Snape holding him down and taking what he wanted while Harry writhed and moaned beneath him. 

“Slut,” Snape chuckled darkly into his ear. 

”Well he’s certainly acting like one,” Lily muttered disdainfully. Then, to her husband, ”And so are you.”

”Me? I didn’t ask for this!”

And if James left these scenes sexually frustrated, well. That was his own fault, wasn’t it?

* * *

Other days they were unwelcome participants. Their faces cold where Harry’s was pressed into a mirror. Their fingers tight with Harry’s around the edge of the counter. And they all bore the ache as Snape pressed into his sore body. As that cock nudged deeper and deeper still. Until they all might have burst from it - from the force of his fucking, maybe, or the power of Harry’s need.

“Are we sure it’s not potions?” James reluctantly asked after. He was not keen on another fight, but neither was Lily after the experience she’d just endured. 

“Unlikely,” sighed Lily. “They would have an almost blurring, numbing affect. This is too…” 

Sharp.

Vibrant.

* * *

Things changed when term began. 

They fucked all the time still, sure. In the Potions storeroom, in the ingredients cupboard, over the desk, in chairs, against walls, on the floors. 

It was his fifth or so detention, Harry down on his knees behind the desk, wrists bound with his school tie, Snape using his mouth. That thick cock heavy on their - his - tongue. Heat pooling in their - his - belly. Snape’s hand tight in their hair. His other hand clutching the desk. It was a slow, controlled slide in and out. When they choked and coughed, it was intentional - what Snape wanted. Tears leaked from their eyes and they blinked them away. They - _he_ \- wanted this too, whatever the pain and discomfort. They - he was greedy, wanted all of Snape, wanted to be bursting with him. Wanted to swallow him whole in every way he could. 

And Snape - well. Snape seemed to want the same. 

The gleam in his eyes had morphed over the months. Predatory still, yes, but also possessive. Passion born of hate, yes - and lust, yes - and - more still. Not love, not yet.

Not yet.

* * *

Lily fled to her body upon recognizing this, the shock of it expelling her from the scene. It was a few minutes before James settled into his own. They could not communicate from their physical forms, but that was just as well. Lily wanted to know what had taken him so long, but was not sure she wanted the fight. Or the answer.

* * *

By the holidays, Snape had given Harry access to his rooms. This was when matters worsened. For it was not only Harry’s heat that drew them in, but _Snape’s_. They could sense Harry sensing him. It might have been more promising for their futures, had the results not been so disturbing. 

Harry tossed onto the bed. Snape crawling over him. Legs wound around skinny hips, hands digging into black shirt, clinging on for dear life as Snape rode him mercilessly. 

Snape bound another time, wrists to headboard while Harry sank onto his cock. Hands braced on chest as Harry took what he wanted, this time. Black eyes were aflame as they watched him, inflaming him in turn. And after, when Harry curled up at his side, trembling against him, Snape kissed the top of his head and buried his nose in the wild hair. And when Harry unbound him, he did not make Harry leave, but pulled him into his arms.

Another night, Harry was stretched out on a rug. Snape took his time taking them apart.

* * *

This marked another change. Lily and James spied more of Harry’s life. They were not sure if this was because they were closer to life, or if he was. 

His emotions pulled them in while in classes. Their son watched Snape prowl across the room. His eyes were entranced by Snape’s hands - around wand or quill or stirring rod. The sweep of black robes stole his breath. 

Deep yearning in his core that was not strictly sexual drew them to the Great Hall. Glaring across the room at one another. Harry muttering to his friends about how mean Snape was, how greasy and ugly, and evil. Making no mention of how intelligent, or capable, or strong, or passionate, or any of the other things that made him want to crawl inside of the man and never come up for air.

The fluttering of his belly later that night when lips pressed softly against his. Heat pricking his flesh as fingertips trailed down his spine. 

“He thinks he’s in love,” Lily said wonderingly.

“He’s a child,” huffed James.

“You are a filthy whore, Potter,” Snape purred into their ear.

Harry trembled. “ _Yes_.”

“But you’re my whore, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes...” 

“He’s a -” began James.

“Don’t say it.”

* * *

When it appeared that Harry’s affection might be returned, James was the first to flee. Lily remained to watch the hair trailing down their - _Harry’s_ \- chest and stomach. The hands that caressed his thighs. That stroked through his hair. Mouth soft against his, swallowing his gasp as Severus - no _Snape_ \- pressed slowly inside of him. Full and overwhelming, as always, but the smoothness and sweetness was new. 

Lily could almost bear it until Severus looked down into their eyes. That searching look. It is not her he spied, not her he’s thinking of. It’s all Harry. It is connection. Connection she had no part in, however bound she was to her son. Harry reached up to cup his face as Lily returned to her body. Almost she could feel the ghost of Severus’s lips on her palm. On Harry’s.

* * *

When Harry used the Resurrection Stone on his way to face Voldemort, Lily and James felt closer to the world than they had in sixteen years. Sirius faded after, but they remained among the trees. Almost - almost they could touch one another. They drank in the sight of each other, so sure were they this was the end. If they were lucky, their remaining life force would spare Harry when the spell hit. 

It was Tom Riddle’s life that was destroyed, not Harry’s. Not Lily’s, nor James’s. 

The force of life burst out of them, flinging dirt from their graves. Too weak were they to rise, but they could laugh and shift. And eventually someone came for them. They were carted to St. Mungo’s and fed water and potions. They were poked and prodded with wands. Harry came to them, briefly, and left. 

That was alright. It was a bit much for them, too. 

Harry returned. A few minutes here. A few hours there. They could not quite look him in the eye, but they would learn. They had a lifetime to do so.

* * *

It took time to heal physically. More time to heal emotionally. Lily hunted down her sister and hexed her to high heaven, the moment she had a wand in hand. It set her recovery back a few weeks, and she was fined heavily, but it was worth it. 

James set his own recovery back by punching Snape in the face. Snape who was helping them, consulting with healers his knowledge of potions and bonds. James wanted to thank him, he’d told his minders. And he did. Thanked him profusely, then punched his overlarge nose. For being a git in general, he’d said. For fucking his son, he did not say. For fucking his wife. For fucking _him_ , whether he knew it or not. 

“I sort of wanted to kiss him,” James confessed with a shudder. Lily wrinkled her nose. “Leftover Harry bits, do you think?”

“I’m sure,” Lily agreed.

“Think they’ll Obliviate me, if I ask?” James asked.

“Worth trying, dear.”

* * *

Some nights their imaginations tickled mouths and nipples and ears, the memory of kisses. Only a memory. Eventually the urge to snog Snape left James entirely. Eventually Lily forgot what her son’s pleasured moans sounded like. 

And one night, it touched them - both at once. That fullness within. That stretch. The whisper of a cock pressing all the way in. Wet heat beneath the jaw. An almost tug of the hair. They were side by side in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Lily heard the sound of James swallowing. James felt the twitch of Lily’s thighs. 

They spoke not a word. Not a word as Lily shivered and sighed. Not a word as James clenched his teeth nearly as hard as his hands clenched the sheets. 

Not a word when James pressed his mouth to his wife’s. Not a word when his fingers found her soaking wet. Not a word of him achingly hard against her hip. Not when they tugged at each other’s clothes. Not when James guided himself inside of her. Groaning with her. Burying his face in her neck. Her nails digging into his shoulder blades. 

James drove into his wife and away from the imaginary invasion in his own body. And he most certainly did not think about the man fucking his son right that very moment.

* * *

(And if James came home with a strap-on the next day, well. They didn’t have to talk about that either.)


End file.
